


A Perfect Mistake

by UzbekistanRules



Series: Hanzo is a Nerd [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hospitalization, Missions Gone Wrong, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 06:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14785055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UzbekistanRules/pseuds/UzbekistanRules
Summary: Hanzo embarks on a mission to steal from Akande Ogundimu. But they never go according to plan, do they?And ultimately, one must pay for their mistakes.





	1. Chapter 1

The mission was simple enough. Get in. Retrieve the information. Get out. A mission type he had done literally thousands of times in the past. But one did not steal from Akande Ogundimu lightly, and Hanzo was no exception. The fact that it was Akande made it all worse somehow. Hanzo had met the Ogundimu’s once in his teenage years- they were all rather intimidating people, but Akande was shaping up to be both intimidating and _intelligent_ and that was even more horrifying than he could comprehend. This was a suicide mission at best.

However... He had a duty to Overwatch to see this through. The terrorist could not be left alone to his own devices, or surely he would conspire to end the world.

Weeks- months were spent prepping Hanzo on the mission. Winston dug up as much information as he could about the place, the guard routines, passwords, potential safe information might be located. Four months of training and watching and keying himself up until Dr. Zeigler forced him to spend three days recovering in the hospital. He needed to learn how to manage himself better. Or at least well enough to keep people from worrying about him so damn much.

It was a new moon, a late August heatwave making him sweat under his urban camouflage suit. There was no wind to at least take the bite of summer out of his waiting. No, he would simply have to wait until after the mission to cool off and enjoy a nice glass of water. For now, he waited for the shift in guard and Winston’s go ahead to start the mission. It was agony to crouch here with bow in hand, waiting. He hated waiting. It was always too much waiting in his line of work, and it allowed him to think. Think on his past mistakes, his actions and inactions, his steps that brought him this close to breaking down from a panic attack.

There was a beep in his left ear.

“Agent Shimada, this is Commander Winston. Begin operation on my mark.”

Hanzo tensed, mind already snapping back to the mission at hand. Get in. Retrieve the information. Get out.

“Mark.”

Hanzo shot off the branch he had been clinging to these past three hours- the one and only place that was safe from both guards and cameras- pelting down the immaculately kept gardens and to a cellar door. It was simple work from a set of lockpicks he kept in one of his hip canisters to get the padlock open, the chain off and the door open. The hinges were well oiled, so all it took was a small whisper of metal and Hanzo was inside the mansion.

Old, dusty bottles greeted him in the dark space. Rows upon rows of wine and liquor bottles sat untouched in the gloom, some dating as far back as 1892 and the newest perhaps being a 2033 pinot noir. Yes, Hanzo had been paranoid to study the wine cellar of one of the most dangerous men in history. One never knew if one should break a bottle over an assailant's head. Or... if perhaps a clever man stored a data chip or two in a false bottle of whiskey. Hanzo knew that this would be one of the easiest to find, if he could find the right bottle on the right asile. The place was nearly as large as some American shopping malls and just as confusing to look through if one did not know how it was laid out.

Perhaps Hanzo should be thankful that he was so damn paranoid he had memorized literally every inch of Akande’s compound. It would have been foolish not to. No one crossed Akande and lived. Hanzo might- but only until all of the secrets in his head had been wormed out through torture and promises of a clean end.

The bottle was easy enough to find, under a fine layer of dust. The cleaning staff were supposed to clean all of the bottles once a month, and it seemed as if they had come through right on time. From the dust on here, it had been about three days since they cleaned. Just in time for his prints to be picked up, but if no one thought to check here then they would vanish into the ether. A gamble he would have to take on behalf of Overwatch. It wasn’t even all that hard to find the false bottom on the clear whiskey, to take the two chips that barely covered one fingertip and store the now empty bottle again.

Upward. His feet made no noise, glided soundlessly against the stone and up the stairs. He paused, listening intently for the sound of shoed feet to pass by. Five seconds, ten seconds, and then the guard came after nearly thirty tortuous seconds of waiting. The unacceptably heavy footfalls came and went and still Hanzo waited for the hall to once again fall silent before cracking the door and slipping out into the hall.

It was lushly appointed, the pieces displayed both elegant and _hideously_ expensive. Akande liked to use his personal manor for quite a few collections of his, most of which would turn heads at the insane lengths he went to collect. Then again... few things were off limits to a man with his morals and his money.

Foot by foot Hanzo crept through the place, eyes and ears alert to the slightest hint of alarm. The guards were well trained. Too well trained to switch up their routines. It was child’s play to sneak through the halls, find one of the offices and slip right in. Not Akande’s main office- no. But from one computer, Athena could access the entire database.

Retrieve the the information. Get out. Two supposedly simple objectives, but Hanzo knew that seemingly simple objectives could turn bad. _Fast._ He didn’t want any trouble with this job. He should have known things would get bad.

Not immediately of course. Something always happened when it was too late to run, too late to hide, and too troublesome to fight. This was no different. However, Hanzo wasn’t expecting the most peculiar traps laid out in plain sight on the walls.

In the low light, it was hard to see exactly what they were. But the acrylic casing was hard to miss as containing anything but a card. Which one? The little window showed something roughly lizard-like, doing... what, exactly? The only one he could think of was-

No. Hanzo literally could not believe this. He looked a bit more carefully, but there was no mistaking it. It was a Base Set Charizard in English. And he couldn’t see what the grade was on the top, which probably meant it was a pristine card. A perfect 10. God. Then he noticed its neighbors. He pulled out, away, trying to take everything in. He couldn’t see many, but as far as he knew they were all perfect 10s as said by one of the leading card grading stores. How-? How did he get so damn many?

Hanzo was only a mortal man, and mortal men all had their downfalls. Hanzo's own was a piece of cardboard and ink worth bare pennies when it was printed, and now priceless beyond compare. A piece of cardboard and many more besides, locked away securely behind flawless numbers and flawless casings. It was childish how many seconds he spend examining the cards proudly displayed by the light outside, and yet here he was. He knew he should be getting on with the mission... but surely a souvenir would not hurt? Which one to take? There were so many here that could fetch hundreds of thousands- if not millions- of dollars. But... he did not want to sell them. He wanted to keep one, just one! One for himself as a charm and a way of payment for this job.

Get in. Retrieve the information. Get out. And though he should focus on the mission, he literally could not help himself. He reached for one at random-

Suddenly light bloomed in that semi-dark room. Hanzo tried to adjust, but it was too little and far too late to do anything about it. There was shouting, voices, he had been caught- He tried to jab out wildly, but a blow knocked his head nearly off his shoulders. Consciousness was less likely with every passing second, white and black blurring his vision and making spots dance before his eyes.

The last thing to run through Hanzo’s mind before he passed out was what a _waste_ all of this was.

\- - - - -

Hanzo had no idea where he was. All he knew was that he hurt. He was cuffed to a rather uncomfortable steel bed. He was naked, and that was what scared him the most. No one was supposed to see the brand. The tattoo could be seen as much as he cared to, but the brand? It was something that he would prefer to keep hidden. Then again, all was laid bare for Talon and the enigmatic dog that was one of its many heads.

Before he could struggle too much, a door opened behind him and shut once more. Heavy foot falls moved slowly behind him, ever further and further to the right. Hanzo turned his head to come face to face with Akande Ogundimu. Shit. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Hanzo Shimada. The lone wolf, stalking about my halls. Tell me... what made you think you had the right to do such a thing?” Hanzo mistrusted that glitter in Ogundimu’s eyes. He knew that look well. He had worn it often enough. Best not to say anything, leave little for ammunition later on. Ogundimu merely spread his arms wide.

“Come now, not even a hello for an old friend?”

“We were never friends,” Hanzo muttered bitterly. They had met what felt a lifetime ago- so long ago they had both been children, nearly hitting their teen years. Neither spoke the other’s native tongue and there had been no shared languages between them. Despite that, Ogundimu had tried to strike up a conversation but Genji ruined the moment by puking on their mother’s kimono. That had been one of the few times Hanzo had been thankful for his brother’s antics.

Doomfist merely shrugged, putting his hands up in a non-confrontational manner. As if they were speaking casually and Hanzo was not currently strapped down to a table. “We could have been, given time. We still could be now. You do not have to be there, Hanzo. You should consider joining us. I think we’d see eye to eye.”

Hanzo couldn’t help but sneer at those words. ‘See eye to eye’? How _dare_ he even say such a thing! Once perhaps they would have. That was before Hanzo disgraced himself and his clan. That was before Ogundimu had turned himself into a terrorist. That was before the events that led them here today.

So instead Hanzo shifted on the table, drawing himself up and forcing himself to look up at Doomfist with a defiance he barely felt in his heart. “I would have little to gain from such an arrangement. I will find my own path.”

Doomfist’s face fell into something darker and more dangerous. A boy being denied a sweet. A predator being denied its rightful prey. A man willing to do whatever he wished to get the results he wished. “I don’t think you understand the position you’re in, Shimada Hanzo. You _will_ join- of your own volition or by force. I am merely giving you the opportunity to come quietly.”

Hanzo had no doubt there would be torture and brainwashing no matter which route he chose. Talon wanted the dragons, and they had proven themselves quite capable of twisting people’s minds to fit their needs. They would want to make sure he was compliant and obedient to their will. They wouldn’t have counted on Hanzo’s sheer defiance. They wouldn’t have counted on the dragons helping him keep his mind.

Still... He could only hope Overwatch would rescue him quickly. There was only so much his training and his dragons could do. The rest was on the shoulders of a group that might never come for him. He might be a dead man.

But he would struggle until the end.

Hanzo paused, as if to consider this particular line of thought before he leaned forward. Doomfist unconsciously leaned forward as well, as if he were interested in the answer. But instead of opening his mouth, Hanzo launched a wad of spit at Doomfist’s face, hitting him square in the forehead.

It took Hanzo a moment to register the pain from the gut punch, it was that swift. But he refused to show how much it truly hurt, instead watching impassively as the saliva was wiped off and Doomfist chuckled. “Oh... it will be _fun_ to break you.”

\- - - - -

Hanzo couldn’t decide which was more ironic- the fact that he had screamed himself hoarse after his ribs had been broken or his prosthetics had been ripped off just before an alarm sounded through the base.

Either way, he was glad of the reprieve. He didn’t know how long he had stayed under the ministrations of the Talon butchers, but that siren must mean that Overwatch had come to get him. Though... it was hard to remember all of that exactly with people rushing about, trying to get equipment and himself out of the labs, out of the building, into safety and hiding once more... only to be electrocuted by something. He did not immediately recognize his savior, which made him all the more pathetic.

“Relax, Agent Shimada,” a steady voice said into his ear. “We’re here to get you out.”

“Out?” Hanzo whispered, looking up to see bright yellow eyes behind rectangular glasses. Why did this... person seem so worried? More importantly, who was he? Hanzo had to worry if he was a wretch for not being able to remember a teammate, if that same teammate thought he looked horrendous.

“Yes. Out.” Something startled his furred companion if he pushed a finger to his ear. “Yes this is Winston.” Winston, Winston of course how could he forget about Winston- “I have located Agent Shimada. Level 5, northwest corridor, as we thought. I will proceed to the extraction point with him. Agents Mei, McCree and Mercy, converge on my signal. Please be advised that Agent Shimada has been badly wounded.”

‘Badly wounded’ was an understatement in Hanzo’s opinion. He felt like he had been flayed alive over the course of several months. But at long last his team had come to save him. Maybe he wasn’t worthless after all. He had to know though. How long had he managed to hold out before his unworthy ass had to be saved.

“How long?” Hanzo managed to croak out as he felt himself lifted bodily into Winston’s arms. Or rather- arm. Apparently, the scientist still needed a free arm to walk on. And to hand things off to Hanzo. Namely the weapon that he had been carrying, an unwieldy pseudo cannon that he knew he would have trouble using under normal circumstances.

But until the other agents could get to them, Winston was trusting Hanzo to have his back. He was- after all- the reason why Overwatch was risking life and limb. If he hadn’t been so foolishly distracted by Pokemon cards, then this would not have happened. They would all be safe and the mission would have been a success. What would they all think when he had to debrief? Surely that he was a fool.

This was no time to be spacing out either, unless he wished for a repeat of his previous mission. He had to do his duty to Winston. He had to get them out alive and in one piece. Cumbersome as the weapon was, he had to use it or die.

Hanzo did his best to situate both himself in Winston’s arm and the cannon in his lap as they made their way out of the room and into the halls beyond. He tried to hide how hurt he truly was, how every step Winston took was agony on his torso and back. They had done quite a number on him. He would be willing to bet that Mercy would be most displeased. So he remained strong. He could not allow his weakness to stop Winston. Ignore all distractions.

“About three days,” Winston finally admitted, quietly so they would not be overheard. Why did he sound so guilty over it? Hanzo would have held out for longer. Would have held out for as long as necessary. Hanzo merely grunted his acknowledgement of the statement to save the scientist from further explaining and perhaps keep him from embarrassment.

The halls were quiet, for the most part. The sounds of distant gunfire and the noisy alarm were omni-present, but Winston at least kept to himself. If he noticed Hanzo’s pain, he said nothing. It was rather strange really. Hanzo had been under the impression he talked more. Ah well. Better to concentrate on his injuries and keeping an eye out on what halls he could see.

“On your nine,” A familiar voice called out, forcing Winston to stop and look. Hanzo’s paranoia spiked. This wasn’t right. This could be a trap, they had to get out of here, Winston had to move so Hanzo could shoot, they were already dead- But wait. Were they friend or foe? Should he be ready to roll out of that strong, simian arm? Should he ready himself for the kickback of a weapon he would never use under normal circumstances? Should he even try and ready himself for the awesome might of the dragons?

Ultimately, his paranoia proved futile. He felt Winston relax under him as he saw whoever it was, which meant they were a part of Overwatch.

“Agent Mei! Is the way clear ahead?” Winston boomed out.

“Yes Winston. The lines are being maintained and the team is ready to retreat at your signal.” Agent Mei sounded far more cheerful than anyone had any right to be at this time. This was a mission. While Hanzo had no doubt she was being as professional as she could be, they were in the heart of enemy territory. Surely, she could act at least a little more professional!

“Where are the others?” Winston asked as they started forward once more, surprising a grunt of pain out of Hanzo. Neither of them commented as Agent Mei trotted up to Winston’s left, keeping an eye on their flank as they walked. Hanzo could only wish he could see her. It would help his paranoia quite a bit.

“Reinhardt is in the south, keeping Tracer and Pharah from being overwhelmed. Bridgette, Tobjorn and Soldier: 76 are defending the ship, though they requested backup from Agent D.va. McCree and Mercy are on their way now from the northeastern corridors, with Genji following behind them. He thought it would be prudent to retreat given that they’re out the furthest.”

Mei easily kept up with them, though she surely was quite a bit smaller than Winston. Hanzo had to wonder if she was doing an awkward jog or if Winston simply was slowing his normal pace to help her keep up, or some combination or outlying factor here. At least they never hit any dead ends or ran into combatants, as winding as their way went. Either they had studied the layout of the place, or Athena was feeding them directions. It was nice that he would get out of here quickly. Surely, if he had to spend any more time in this comfortable half- crouch, he would puncture a lung or something.

And Genji was here. Was Hanzo truly so pathetic that he needed his little brother to save him? No... It was both more complicated and more simple than that. Hanzo had a debt. No one save for Genji could clear that debt. It only made sense that Genji came to liberate his brother before he could die to someone else’s hands that wasn’t his own. The logic was sound and it was much his brother’s style.

He was so caught up in his head that he nearly missed the three Talon agents coming from a hallway to their three o’clock, popping out of two doorways and aiming their rifles directly at the small band. His mind struggled to figure out what was happening. His body knew however, and was already raising the cannon- bulky and clumsy in his hands- to fire upon the enemy.

Honestly, something this heavy should have more recoil, considering it was shooting electricity instead of traditional ammunition. But no. It was like shooting Storm Bow, except instead of arrows it was shooting _real fucking lightning._

He would not miss this gun once he had to relinquish it.

“Good shot Agent Shimada!” Winston sounded grateful that Hanzo had done his duty. Why? If he had not, surely they would all be dead.

Instead, Hanzo murmured modestly. “It is nothing. Please, let us continue.”

Two more times, they encountered resistance. The first wave went down via a combination of Hanzo and Agent Mei using her endothermic blaster and the tesla cannon- as Winston happily pointed out without prompting on anyone’s part. The second wave went down due to luck and mostly McCree and Genji showing up at an ideal time. Genji... How pathetic Hanzo was for his brother to see him in such a sorry state.

“Anija...” Genji breathed, a green afterimage came to greet them and in an instant Genji was there. Genji, who saw his brother at his weakest. Genji, who was now holding everyone up.

“Genji...” Hanzo wheezed through gritted teeth, allowing some of his weakness to slip through. Enough to catch Mercy’s attention, at the very least.

“I need him on the drop ship now. He needs medical attention immediately.” Good. Now this farce could end.

“Alright agents, fall back. Rendezvous with the ship. I want wheels up ASAP.” Winston spoke into his comm and the other agents must have heard him through theirs. There was no irritated sounds from any of those gathered, just a sense of relief.

Hanzo allowed the Caduceus to flow over him, warming him and starting the arduous process of healing his broken body. He should probably be ashamed of his intense desire to fall asleep here and now, but he was too tired to care at this point. Too tired to care to keep up appearances either, for his eyes slid shut as he felt Winston begin to take the ramp up into the Orca.

\- - - - -

Hanzo hated the white sterile room that was more or less ‘his’ when he came to the infirmary. The white was almost painful to his eyes and the lights were harsh. Were it up to him, he would have it re-painted a tasteful beige and add a few pieces of art to the walls to soften the look. As it stood, he was glad that it was Dr. Zeigler’s room and not someone else’s who worked under Doomfist. He was thankful that there were only IVs keeping his hands still and not handcuffs. And he was absolutely grateful that Overwatch came and saved him when they did.

He was saved from his downward spiral of thoughts by a knock on his door and a green visor popping in. “Yo.”

“Genji? Why are you here?”

“Can I not visit my infirm elder brother as he languishes away in a hospital room, away from all of the comforts of a-” Genji had to stop his diatribe when Hanzo frowned at him, laughing easily and pushing himself inside. “The crew also wished for me to give you a ‘get well soon present.’”

Ah. Of course. The customary fruit basket. He thought he caught the flicker of other people past Genji as the massive basket was hefted easily into his little brother’s hands and set on his bedside table.

“Shall I slice an orange for you, anija?”

Hanzo frowned. “No thank you. You know I hate oranges.”

“But they’re full of Vitamin C! You need to keep up your strength! Hmmm... well, how about an apple?”

“Genji, they broke my legs and ribs, not my hands. I can cut my own apple.”

Genji’s fist curled and uncurled. A childish habit that he never seemed to have broken himself out of. He was upset. But why? It was just some stupid fruit. But... Then he remembered he used to do this exact same thing to Genji when he was sick. He had cut himself many times over learning how to do apple bunnies perfectly, but Genji’s delighted face had made it all worth it. Perhaps this too was for Genji’s sake as it was for Hanzo’s?

“I suppose it would be alright. Thank you Genji.”

Underneath that mask, he knew Genji was smiling as he rummaged through the fruit basket, presumably to find an apple and the paring knife stored in there. Instead, what he came out with were two acrylic cases.

That was neither an apple nor a knife.

Hanzo had to pause for a second, staring at the rare Giovanni’s Scheme that came out in a special Team Rocket case nearly 60 years ago. Black label 10. Where had Genji found it?

“I-”

Before Hanzo could ask what was the meaning of this, the room was suddenly full to bursting with people, talking over one another and shoving acrylic cases into his hands, arms, around his legs, anywhere there was space. There wasn't enough room. They all began to spill out onto the floor, everything from promo Pikachu cards to Secret Energies, all in Black Label 10s. Was that a Base Set Charizard? The same Base Set Charizard that had stopped him cold not but three days ago.

 _“Silence!”_ Hanzo barked and everyone immediately shut up. “Genji. What did you do.”

“Justice, dear brother. Doomfist stole you. I decided to steal his collection.”

“You risked yourself-”

“It wasn’t just him!” Lena piped up. “It was all of us.”

“All of you unnecessarily risked your lives for... what? Petty revenge?” Hanzo curled his lip in disgust.

“To make you happy.” The old Soldier picked up a card, sending seven or eight clattering to the floor like spent bullet casings. “All of us were worried about you and his mansion was the first place we hit. It was Genji’s idea sure, but we all contributed.” He waved the card, a Neo Destiny Shining Steelix. The case was solid, and so it chopped the air instead of wiggled.

Hanzo coughed a bit. How foolish the gesture was. And yet... how appreciated the gesture was. “I... Thank you. I just simply... I wasn’t expecting it. I’m sure it took a bit of time for you to gather all of them.”

“Not at all.” It was McCree this time, drawling and winking, pulling up that ridiculous hat to let yet more fall to the ground. Only one remained on top of his head and he pulled it off. “Huh. Hey Hanzo. You can read this, right?”

Hanzo had to pause for a moment, studying it. But it was easy enough to remember. “Ah yes. That is the Imakuni promo from CoroCoro 1997. It was meant to be a joke, based on one of the singers for the Japanese commercials. It was also the first to feature the word ‘photo by’ instead of ‘illustrated by.’ It is worth roughly 600,000 dollars US.”

At that, many bit back curses or let out whoops of joy. “Hey hey! Hanzo! How much do you think we stole from Doomfist?” Lucio asked.

“It would be hard to say without looking at them all, and pricing them is very difficult because they are usually the only one or one of a very limited supply. However... we could probably buy any country we wished with the money we get from the cards and still have enough to resurrect Overwatch through independent means.” He couldn’t stand it any more. Hanzo began to stack the cards, cursing as a few more hit the floor.

“So. What will you do with them?” Zenyatta was floating as was his wont, with his long loincloth crading even more cases.

“I.... I do not know just yet. If you wish for a card, take it. I have no room to display it.”

“That can be fixed, easily enough!” The young mechanic- Bridgette, Hanzo thought- piped up. Murmurs of agreement ran up and down the group, with Genji nodding emphatically. Hanzo merely sighed.

“Do as you wish. Just please clean up the mess before you leave.”

“Understood!” A shuffle of bodies, the clack of acrylic, a few curses here and there for good measure and Hanzo was left in peace. He sighed and set aside the Imakuni for now, taking a peach from the basket and biting into it, chewing on it thoughtfully as he rested against the hospital bed. What to do with millions of dollars worth of cards? He could sell them... but he didn’t particularly care to. He was sure that Doomfist would kill him if the collection were broken up. But it would be difficult to display them in his room and he knew that no one else cared for mint cards. And then it would be incredibly rude to just... shove them in a box and set them in his closet.

He sighed. He could deal with his conundrum after he had gotten out of the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks in the hospital have left Hanzo feeling drained and cantankerous. First there was the recovery of his body from the torture. Then it was an ungodly amount of time spent re-calibrating to a new set of feet. Doctor Zeigler suggested he remain in physical therapy for another month or so. It was a suggestion that he was not going to take seriously. He wanted sleep in his own bed, damnit. He was tired of pristine white walls and the smell of antiseptic. He wanted his room. He needed to know what he was going to do with the cards. Stupid Genji. Still... it was a nice thought. A reward for fucking up a mission.

He should dump them all in the trash. After his foolishness, he should not keep them.

He should sleep.

He should tear his room apart.

He should meditate.

He should train.

Should, should, should. He was paralyzed by his indecision. Damn him.

A shower and sleep would help. He wasn’t thinking clearly due to the phantom pain, and the pain of the past month. That had to be it. It certainly wasn’t guilt, rising up and drowning his thoughts. It certainly wasn’t his pride, ripping him to shreds at the thought of people having to help him. And it certainly wasn’t the vicious voice of the elders, ripping him to shreds for every tiny mistake. No... it was merely his pain that made him weak, and not any of those other things.

He should donate everything. Certainly- it would be a waste, but it might bring a smile to a more worthy face.

Hanzo slipped in to his room, finding the offending shelves and sneering at the sheer childishness that slapped him in the face. No grown man should have so much in the way of such a past time displayed as if he was proud of it. Especially if it threatened his life and the lives of his teammates. Even if by normal standards it was tiny- three whole shelves of cards and plushies, keychains and lunchboxes- they should not be displayed.

No more. He would return the Gyarados charm to McCree and the framed cards to Soldier: 76. He would donate the rest to children less fortunate than him. And yes- he would throw those fucking cards in the trash. He  _ could _ sell them... but then Doomfist would merely buy them again. No- better to throw them away and deny the man that pleasure.

God, he was so  _ fucking _ tired.

But the thought of crawling into bed after three weeks without a proper bath disgusted his nearly as much as his room did.

He was about to strip and head for the shower when a knock sounded on his door. Hanzo bit back a groan, willing the person to leave but another knock silently stated that they were going to stay until he answered the door, whether or not he liked it. Better to answer and deny what they had to ask him than to let them pound his door in while he made himself fresh.

He was surprised when he saw Torbjorn and Bridgette at his door when he answered, arms filled with boxes. It must have been awkward for them to knock with their arms full. How rude of him.

“Agent Shimada! It’s done now, and just in time too, apparently!” The young woman spoke, looking beyond him into the room.

“What is done?” Hanzo had to ask. He didn’t know what in the world she was talking about.

“The shelves of course,” Torbjorn grumbled beside her. “Kept yer cards safe too from the vultures.”

Of course. The cards. How could he forget about them? He would rather they were forgotten or stolen or lost. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with them himself. Instead of voicing any of that however he merely bowed to them. “Thank you.” He kept the bow short. He wouldn’t want them to be uncomfortable with his formality, after all.

“So? May we come in?” Bridgette asked.

“What.” Hanzo wasn’t expecting that.

“We have to install it of course! And then you’ll probably want help setting up the cards and then there’s taking pictures-” Hanzo allowed her to continue her inane babble for a few moments while his mind went through mental gymnastics. How best to get them to leave without being rude about it? He just didn’t know how to.

But he was saved somehow. Somehow Lindholdt saw the look on his face and called for silence from his apprentice. The two spoke rapidly in a language Hanzo did not bother to try and understand before he set some of the boxes down.

“Forgot we had something urgent in the shop,” the aged mechanic explained to Hanzo, though he was only half listening. “We’ll be back later to install those shelves. I’ll leave the cards here for you to look over. Welcome back, Agent Shimada.”

With that, Hanzo was relieved to see the two of them retreat, their backs unable to see shaky nod of relief that Hanzo gave to the pair of them.

\- - - - -

Hanzo had forgotten how much he missed meeting up with Miss Vaswani over tea. She did not go to the hospital if she could help it and Hanzo never pressured her into visiting him while he was trapped there. Though he and the ex-Vishkar agent had a rough start, they could talk about a variety of subjects even late into the night. She appreciated his punctuality and his respectfulness. He appreciated her meticulousness and her sarcasm. All in all, a good friendly relationship.

Today, she made chai- not as good as Uppalapati’s- and had some tinned cookies laid out for them to enjoy. Hanzo found the silence comforting rather than disturbing. They did not need to speak to each other to enjoy the company. And- to be honest- Miss Vaswani had excellent taste in decor. Much better than his own.

“So-” she said, breaking the silence and causing unease in Hanzo, “I hear Overwatch has stolen billion of dollars in a card game.”

“You are correct, Miss Vaswani. Although to be clear- I never asked them to do it. It was Genji’s idea.”

She hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip of her chai. He wondered if she was mulling over her next words, or if she would allow this discussion to drop.

The sounds of them eating and drinking reigned for a few minutes before she spoke again. “You must be at an impasse. You cannot keep the cards. They were stolen. And yet- you cannot simply turn them over to any authority figures. Such would expose Overwatch to needless risk. Have you given any thought to what you wish to do?”

He had, and some to the same conclusions for very different reasons. “I had not,” he lied. “Have you any ideas?”

“At the very least, they would need to be sorted by name and set Unless you have already done so...?”

“No.” That much was the truth. “There were a few things I wished to do between yesterday and now. Touching those cards was not one of them.” Miss Vaswani merely hummed, nodding at his words.

“I would be willing to do so. I have found life at the Watchpoint... unacceptably chaotic. It would allow me to focus on something less so.”

Hanzo mulled it over for a moment. Yes, to her mind and the way she was raised if Nishkar, the Watchpoint was a sea of chaos with no anchor.

Who was he to deny her some stability?

“Of course, Miss Vaswani. And... actually, I have a favor to ask of you.”

She looked at him, staring just above his eyes with one eyebrow raised. Better make it quick then.

Hanzo took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I have quite a few more cards that I have not sorted. And I was planning on remodeling my room to better suit my needs.”

“And you wish for me to hold on to it.” She looked both pensive and puzzled. “Why?”

She was quick up on the uptake at least. “I would rather it in your careful hands. In storage somewhere around the base... It could get lost. Damaged. Destroyed. Forgotten. With you, I know you would take good care of it.”

Miss Vaswani thought for a moment before nodding. “Very well. At 1900 I will help you move your things to my room. Please provide boxes and tape and a marker.”

Hanzo bowed to her in his seat. “That is more more than I could ever ask for.

\- - - - -

Even with his hospitalization, the world turned on. A new expansion for the trading card game. The usual suspects pleaded and cajoled him to go with them, though he still need to do his training. It was finally Genji’s quiet ‘please’ that finally had him trailing behind the four, heading now to that dreaded store.

“Come on! Or are you waiting for an engraved invitation?” Hana grinned cheekily at him from over her shoulder. Her face fell when she saw his. Ah. And here he was, trying to keep himself from ruining their fun. As usual.

“I do not wish to go inside,” he said instead of what was truly on his mind. It was childish, it would bring harm to his teammates, it would jeopardize everything... He could not bring risk to the members of Overwatch, no matter how incompetent he was.

As per usual, it was Lucio who spoke up first. “If you want someone else to get you the booster boxes-”

“That will not be necessary,” Hanzo cut the young musician off, wincing internally at his own brusqueness. “I have already ordered the cards online. There is no need for me to step inside.”

“What what about the exclusives? You can buy them in the online store!”

“Yes,” Mei pipped up and Hanzo wished they and their well meaning words would just  _ go away. _ “And they will only be around for a limited time! Remember how quickly those Alolan Pikachu plushies sold out? There a line out of the mall! You had to camp for three days just to get one!”

But he was one of the first to buy it. No longer. The Alolan Pikachu and all of its companions were crammed into boxes, never to see the light of day again. Or they would, years later when they were cleaning out his things when he died. They would be sold online and all of the profits would go to Overwatch while his body was tossed into the sea to be eaten and never mourned.

“There is nothing in there that I care for,” he forced himself to say. “If that is all, then may we please move on?”

Hanzo did not miss their looks. The looks confusion, the looks of pity and from Hana- a look of intense concentration. Surely she would say something, if not now then later.

But just as she opened her mouth, Genji of all people came to his defense. “Let’s go. He doesn’t want to look. Besides, there are some thing I want to get from Ulta...”

At that, the tension cut as the rest of the group groaned- Hanzo included. “How many eyeshadows could you need Genji? You already bought out the store once!” Hana complained as the group moved past the Pokemon Center and into the mall proper.

Whatever Genji’s cheeky response was, he didn’t hear. He just sighed in relief. Hana may interrogate him later, but Genji saved him from explaining himself to his teammates and the world at large.

Hanzo hated owing his brother. At least he still understood, after all these years.

\- - - - -

“Alright. What’s going on.”

“Good evening, Miss Song.” Hanzo stopped in the hallway to turn around and confront the young woman. Honestly, he was surprised it took her so long to speak up. He had almost been sure that she would pounce on him the second they returned from the mall. Instead, she came up behind him at nearly 2200.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“One may argue that you never posited one in the first place.”

“Are you?”

He could. Hanzo kept himself from sighing as he said, “No.”

“Then answer the question.” Hana folded her arms against her chest, glaring up at him as she did.

“I do not know what you mean, Miss Song.”

“Bullshit. You know what I’m talking about.” But just to clarify she added, “Usually when we go to the mall, you’re super impatient to get to the Pokemon Center. But now you’re acting as if there’s a plague there. Why. Is it because of that mission with Doomfist?”

Hanzo forced his body to stay relaxed, to will his face into a mask. He must have failed because Hana sighed and rolled her eyes at his antics. “You know these things happen, right? Not every mission can be a resounding success. You’re going to fuck up.”

“It’s not just that!” he snapped, anger overcoming his apathy temporarily. Hanzo closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. Order everything. Logical and cold, just as his brother always hated. “I not only jeopardized the mission, I failed.”

It stung. He knew it internally, but to say it aloud stung his pride in a way that he had never considered before. To work under someone and fail them when they were counting on the mission succeeding... it was a bitter pill to swallow. But he continued on. “Not only did I fail, I selfishly risked all of your lives while you rescued me. IF I had not had that foolish obsession, things would have been different.”

“You don’t know that.” That one statement stopped Hanzo cold.

“I’m sorry?”

“You don’t know that the Pokemon cards had anything to do with your capture. I heard later from Genji that Doomfist sent a video of you sneaking around in his manor. It was like he already knew you were coming, you know? So... I don’t think think you should cut yourself off like that. It’s not healthy.”

Who was she to say what was and wasn’t healthy for him? He was a grown man. He did not need this upstart telling him what to do.

“I will take your words under advisement. Good evening, Miss Song.”

“Will you really take them ‘under advisement,’” she used finger quotes around the words, “or are you just going to go to your lonely shell of a room and drink until you can’t feel anything anymore?”

Hanzo bristled. “What I do with my free time is none of your business.”

Hana’s jaw worked, as if she were contemplating arguing further. It took her several moments before she nodded to herself. “Fine. Enjoy your sulk time or whatever.”

Before Hanzo had a chance to admonish her, she turned on her heel and walked off. Good. Let her walk off. Let her think on her actions.

Hanzo was not going to his room to sulk like an angsty teen. He was going to his room to meditate.

And if he so happened to break into his stored bottles of sake while meditating, it was no one’s business but his own.

\- - - - -

Routine was necessary to keep one’s mind sharp and one’s body even sharper. It was why Hanzo woke up at such an early hour. He could spend as long as he needed to on physical exercise before showering and joining Overwatch in communal breakfast. Though he preferred to spend his mornings- and afternoons and evenings and nights- alone, he had to admit that the breakfasts had grown on him. At least people were usually too tired to speak, or perhaps they enjoyed the quiet in the mornings as he did. Regardless, it wasn’t usually a chore to spend the mornings with the rest of the team.

Usually.

Today, it seemed like Genji wished to relay a story to the rest of his companions, one that seemed to earn a lot of laughs if the noise was anything to go by.

“...didn’t even know! So there Reyes was, walking around with a fake pink moustache on either shoulder and  _ no one _ said anything about it!”

Everyone had been reduced to an incoherent mess, from Hana who had her head on the table and was squeaking with every breath, to Reinhardt booming out hearty guffaws and smacking the table.

Personally, Hanzo didn’t see what was so funny. He had been pranked by Genji in far less humorous ways.

“Wh... what happened?” Mei finally gasped out.

“Well, Reyes finally saw what  _ someone _ ,” Genji stressed it in a conspiratorial manner, “had done and demanded an explanation from whoever did it. I finally had to confess... that Jesse did it.”

“You little liar! No wonder why Reyes was chewing on my tail for a damn week!” McCree was still smiling, even as he mimed a blow in Genji’s direction who shrugged it off as casually as ever.

Of course Genji pinned the blame on someone else. He always pinned the blame on someone else. Hanzo kept himself from frowning as he moved to the kitchen, not wishing to disturb story time. Maybe it was best if he ate in his room today, lest he be subjected to ever increasingly uncomfortable stories. Hanzo moved to the refrigerator to look at the leftovers within. Rice was a near constant with four East Asians in residence at any one given time. There were some leftover bean sprouts from a dish made three days ago and some mackerel that needed to be eaten soon. All very easy to cook quickly and he could slip out again without anyone being any the wiser. There was even enough for a fruit salad, if he so chose to cut up the fruit left behind. It would give him something to do with his hands as he waited for his food and he would have enough for leftovers.

Hanzo was so wrapped up in his thoughts and preparations, he nearly missed Reinhardt calling to him. “Genji must have pranked you while the two of you were growing up! Come! Tell us a story!”

Hanzo frowned, keeping his eyes on the fruit that lay on the cutting board. The room was still save for the microwave which was heating the fish and the rice both. “I do not think it would be appropriate. Perhaps some other time.”

“Come now brother. Surely it wasn’t  _ that  _ bad.” Hanzo could almost visualize the smug smirk on Genji’s face. Fine. Allow him to be the villain of a story, if he wished it so badly upon himself.

“Then you do not remember the meeting with Kaneko Koi Farm as well as I do.”

At that everyone leaned in to better hear, even as Genji leaned back to cross his arms. “Huh. No... I suppose I don’t. Remind me again?”

“I am not surprised you don’t. You weren’t there for any of it but the beginning.” How much to tell? The salad was done, but the main meal wasn't. So to keep him from looking at anyone, he began to clean up the mess he made. Anything to keep them from seeing the look in their eyes as he relayed the story.

“It started when you convinced me that a very limited amount of cream colored Kikokuryuu were coming to the market and the auction was to be held at the end of the month. I had to meet the suppliers in person in order to secure a position in the auction. If I didn’t, then everyone would be incredibly upset, as there were only twelve coming to the market.” Hanzo chanced a glance in Genji’s direction, but if he moved then Hanzo hadn’t noticed it. “It was perhaps a year before Otou-sama died.”

Genji made another sound, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle. Everything was almost done. He would just have to be patient a little while longer. “Still don’t remember it.”

“Well- after convincing me that it was vitally important and that I was the only one who could do it, I ran around like an idiot for three days setting all of my affairs in order. I had to wake up at four in the morning to take a cab to the train station to take me to the Yamagata hypertrain station to take me to Toyko, collapse in the hotel long enough to take an hour long nap and then get ready to meet the three people who were to meet me for lunch. Who I waited for even when the lunch hour turned to the dinner hour. Who I waited for even when the waitstaff politely informed me that the kitchen was closing. I waited for fourteen hours for someone to show up and no one ever did. I was punch drunk and hallucinating as I staggered my way through Kamurocho. I was lucky I didn’t get accosted by anyone, but most especially by the Majima-gumi. Who knew what would have happened if any of them found out that I was in town.”

Genji hissed as the microwaved beeped and Hanzo plated his meal. No one said anything as he picked up the two bowls and a pair of chopsticks, moving out of the kitchen and out of the dining room. But then Genji had to open his big, stupid, dumb mouth.

“Brother... I-”

“It is in the past. It is best to forget.” He nodded at the table, retreating quickly to his empty room to eat. Alone. In peace. Hated. As everything should be.

\- - - - -

It seemed everyone had a story to share. Not with Hanzo directly, but every time he entered a room with people in it, there was a shift in topic. Without fail, the conversation eventually circled around to past mistakes and forgiveness by wronged parties. Stories of loss and regret. After two days, it was nauseating. After a week, it was nothing more than merest droning against his skull. They thought him so naive that if they spoke on the subject, he would have a related epiphany and all would be well again between him and his brother.

Why though? Why all this talk? Why rope everyone else into helping drive the point home? He would not ask, though he longed to. Allow them to prattle how they wished. Curious as he was, he would not pry. They would do as they wished and he would carry their burdens. It was how life had always been for him.

But it was about damn time that Genji came to talk to him about it all. Only to talk. Never to do as he was supposed to do. Talk was cheap, but perhaps his brother didn’t want to scare away the other agents with a fight.

“Brother... I want to apologize. I never know how serious it had gotten. I-”

Hanzo cut Genji off with a wave of his hand. “It was nothing. If it had been something, you would have known about it all those years ago. I got back to the hotel safely and then back home without issue. No one noted my absence and all was well.” He did not say that he had wanted to strangle his little brother for the prank, but had been too tired to do so.

That should have been the end of it. Genji did not want it to be the end of it, by the way he started forward. “Hanzo-”

Hanzo took a step back to reestablish the boundaries. “Forgive me Genji, I have a lot to do today-”

Another step forward. The fool wouldn’t back down. “Don’t run away from this! How can I make it up to you?”

Another step back. “There is noth-”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s not bullshit if it’s true!” In the silence of the hall, Hanzo could hear himself breathe. A most unfortunate annoyance. He had to wonder what Genji was thinking, because Hanzo couldn’t. He didn’t know where Genji was going with this, what he wanted, why he was doing what he was doing. This had to be some fort of punishment for humiliating Genji, but what was it about? Why here, when they were alone rather than in a more common space where Genji had allies? Maybe that would come later. Maybe he would finally-

But in such an inelegant place? It did not suit Genji’s sense of style. One would think he would drag Hanzo out to Hanamura again on that day and cut him down then. A life for a life and a fitting end for a traitor. Then Genji could deal with all of his things without worry. Who knew? Perhaps it would all wind up in a cleansing fire, lest his spirit return to haunt it all.

Or maybe... just maybe Genji would cut him to bits, exactly as Hanzo did a decade ago. Fitting and cruel, just like the brother he knew. Leave him bleeding out, only to rescue him at the last second. Leave him trapped, in pain unimaginable, in a body foreign to him. Allow him to wallow for another decade before finally-  _ finally! _ \- slaying his kin. Poetic, for sure. Every day, Genji would be able to mock his elder brother, ask sweetly in front of witnesses how he felt, if he was hurting, if he needed assistance with anything-

“Hanzo.”

His name snapped him out of his thoughts, his body jerking involuntarily. “Yes?” His wits failed him in this moment, staring blankly at Genji. He would curse himself if he wasn’t already damned.

“Do you want to keep the cards or not?”

What kind of question was this? He stared at his brother blankly, wondering just what the point was and hoping it would come soon. After a few moments Genji sighed, allowing the static filled voice to resound in the air.

“Just... answer the question, please. It’ll make sense in a minute.”

Hanzo thought about it, trying to keep his face in check. Of course he wanted to keep his things. It was the first time in a long while that he had been allowed to do so without fear of repercussions or the loss of such silly things. But what was the answer that Genji wished to hear? Yes, so he may mock Hanzo? Or no, so he may destroy them? In the end, it probably didn’t matter. So... he took a deep breath and finally let out the answer he wanted to say. “I do.”

“Then let’s go. I have an idea.”

As Genji walked with him back to his room, the idea took a hold of him. Yes... yes, this could work. And it would be very petty too. Just the way he liked it.

\- - - - -

It was rather late when Akande Ogundimu received a text message from an unknown number. He received many an unknown number throughout the day, so it was nothing unusual. He was a musy man with many associate who wished for a... certain level of anonymity. Who was he to deny them that right? Especially when he himself wished for the same from his own contacts.

A new attachment however... that was new. Unusual. What could it possibly be? He literally had no idea, since he was expecting nothing from anyone anytime soon. So with all the anticipation of a child at Christmas, he opened his phone and looked at the new message.

Ah. It was the Shimada dragon, alive and well. A pity they did not reprogram him in time. And... oh? How unusual. There was a card collection- the very one that was stolen about a month back- behind Hanzo Shimada. What a pretty picture he made, staring at the camera with such defiant fire in his eyes! It was truly a pity that the dragon slipped through his fingers.

But Akande notice the number typing out a new message. What did the dragon have to say...?

His laughter ran through the hall of the Talon outpost as he read it. ‘I lived, bitch.’ How fitting. The best possible bait for Akande to once more stalk the fallen heir. He was sure that they would meet again.

He couldn’t wait for that next meeting.


End file.
